“I love the boy. I love him more than if he were flesh and blood of me, of me, Lytol of Ruatha Hold. Proved I love him, too. Proved I care for him. Ruatha’s rich. Rich as when the Ruathan Bloodline ruled it. Undid all Fax’s harm. And did it all, not for me. My life’s spent. I’ve been everything. Been a dragonrider. Oh, Larth, my beautiful Larth. Been a weaver so I know the Crafts. Know the Holds now, too. Know everything. Know how to take care of a white runt. Why shouldn’t the boy keep his dragon? By the First Shell, no one else wanted him. No one else wanted to Impress him. He’s special, I tell you. Special!”

“Now, just a moment, Lord Lytol,” Raid of Benden said, rising from his end of the table and stalking down to confront Lytol. “Boy’s Impressed a dragon. That means he must stay in the Weyr.”

“Ruth’s not a proper dragon,” Lytol said, neither speaking nor acting as drunk as he must be.

“Not a proper dragon?” Raid’s expression showed his shock at such blasphemy.

“Never been a white dragon ever,” Lytol said pontifically, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn’t much taller than the Lord Holder of Benden but he gave the impression of greater stature. “Never!” He appeared to feel that required a toast but found his cup empty. He managed to pour wine with creditable deftness for a man swaying on his feet. The Harper motioned wildly for his own glass to be filled but had trouble keeping it steady under the flow of wine.

“Never a whi’ dragon,” the Harper intoned and touched cups with Lytol.

“May not live,” Lytol added, taking a long gulp.

“May not!”

“Therefore,” and Lytol took a deep breath, “the boy must remain in his Hold. Ruatha Hold.”

“Absolutely must!” Robinton held his cup high, more or less daring Raid to contradict him.

Raid favored him with a long inscrutable look.

“He must remain in the Weyr,” he said finally, though he didn’t sound as definite.

“No, he must come back to Ruatha Hold,” said Lytol, steadying himself with a firm grip on the table edge. “When the dragon dies, the boy must be where obligations and responsibilities give him a hold on life. I know!”

To that Raid could give no answer, but he glowered in disapproval. Lessa held her breath and began to “lean” a little on the old Lord Holder.

“I know how to help the boy,” Lytol went on, sinking slowly back into his chair. “I know what is best for him. I know what it is to lose a dragon. The difference in this case is that we know Ruth’s days are numbered.”